


⊘__the cleanup

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Luisa and Malcolm clean up Jessica's living room after Ainsley's murderous night.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	⊘__the cleanup

Another day, another murder.

It had been twenty-two years, but it felt the same. Police tape cordoning off the residence. Unable to enter it until the scene had been cleared. Coming into work to find some of the spaces needing a good scrubbing. Keeping occupied while awaiting word from Jessica on next steps.

Luisa paused moving things aside in the living room when she saw Malcolm in the entryway. His lingering was familiar too, looking for a comfort he couldn’t find in the vast halls. “Something I can get you?” she asked, sharing a tip of her head.

“I wanted to offer my help,” he said, stepping inside, his hands outstretched like some magical cure would come from them.

“That’s not necessary.” She waved him off. All she needed was Jessica finding him in the middle of the mess, and she’d get an earful.

But he walked closer to the couch. Never one to listen to instructions. “I’d like to.”

Thirty-two years around the kid, she knew he didn’t take _no_ for an answer when his mind was set. Jessica still hadn’t been back to the house after several days, so maybe the coast was clear for her to give in to him. “Take these,” she directed, holding out a pair of disposable rubber gloves. The biggest pathogen might be dead, yet there were still others to worry about.

He pulled them on, stretching his fingers into each of the holes. It reminded her of the blown up rubber turkeys he and Ainsley had made when they were kids, only to pop them when he was angry.

“Get the other end of the couch — we’ll put it on the far side of the room for now,” she instructed. As far away as they could get so it didn’t become another victim.

Together, they picked up the couch and walked it to the other side. “Strong as ever, Luisa,” Malcolm commented with a half smile.

“Have to be around here,” she returned. Prerequisite skill número uno. She pointed to their next task and explained, “Once we get this rolled up in plastic, we’re going straight to the curb.”

“We can’t throw out hazardous waste in — “

“You think I don’t already have that covered?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. Arrogance, party of one. One of the things he’d picked up from his father. Along with a whole host of other ills she wouldn’t wish on anyone. Or maybe just Dr. Whitly. He deserved a taste of his own medicine.

He gave a small chuckle and bowed his head. At least he knew when he made a mistake.

“Cleanup services should be here within the hour.”

He nodded and the two of them worked to roll up the rug, dirty end folded in first, then crack over crunch turned in on itself until the clean end wrapped around the whole bundle, cloaking it like nothing had ever happened. He held the bundle while she pulled garbage bags over both ends, sealing it. Together, they walked it outside to the desired spot, concealed just inside the gate.

“Probably thought Ainsley’s projectile grape juice was the worst mess you’d ever see,” Malcolm commented on the walk back inside.

If he only knew the half of it. “I don’t know, mister _I wanted to make the biggest volcano explosion possible_ ,” she teased, raising her eyebrows at him. His own blunders, she could gossip about. His experiments had caused _plenty_ that she’d tried to remedy before his mother could find them.

“I forgot about that,” Malcolm admitted with a laugh. “We were kind of a disaster at times, huh?”

“Just kids.” Who needed whatever attention they could get through some _very_ dark times. She didn’t have her own, and helping them fulfilled the errant desire when it came creeping back.

“Now?”

“Bigger kids.” She smiled.

Back in the living room, she pulled out cleaner, old rags, and another trash bag. “Straight into here,” she gave him a stern eye, not wanting more mess around the living room. He nodded, and she sprayed the floor, coating all the dried stains. His first swipe left a long streak on the hardwood he seemed mesmerized by. “You really don’t need to do this, Malcolm,” she reminded him. He didn’t need to unearth trauma doing her job. She had no idea what he was seeing, but if Jessica's descriptions were anything to go by, it couldn't be anything pleasant.

“I’m good,” he returned. Not that anyone in the house ever believed him when he said that. On one particularly glorious occasion, he had said that right before he passed out and tumbled down the entire staircase. He was still _good_ when he hit the bottom, too — his shoulder dislocated and a lump on his forehead.

They worked, wiping and tossing away the rags, as no one ever needed another reminder of that blood. No mementos of that bastard man who worked his way into the family for revenge. She furiously sprayed more cleaner as they worked through it in layers.

“Why’d you stay?” he asked, his curious eyes looking over to her.

There was only one thing he could be referencing. “I always worked for your mom,” she responded, plain as could be, then tipped darker, “not _him_.” She paused, recovering her warm tone, “And you kids were fun. She needed all the help she could get…after.”

“And now?”

“One day, I’ll retire. But I like being here. It’s a good job. A stable job.” Kept she and her wife in an apartment they liked and funded trips when they could. Jessica had her quirks, but Luisa never had to worry she’d be out the door. Show her loyalty, and she’d be loyal back.

“With a side of murder,” he gave an offhand comment, his eyes looking up from where his head was bent scrubbing.

“If 23 wasn’t enough to scare me off, one more wasn’t gonna do it,” she retorted.

He smiled at her honesty, his glee showing he liked her more open side she usually kept hidden. “Did you ever just want to leave us somewhere?”

“You were kids.”

“C’mon — we could be a handful.” Yeah, like nudging his way in to help with a murder cleanup that he had witnessed.

“It was my job to make sure you got back in one piece.” Or Jessica would be livid. Not that she could blame her. If Luisa had kids, she wouldn’t want someone to lose them either.

“And I gave you the slip at the park a few times.” A _few_. Uhhuh. He’d done it enough she was ready to chip the kid.

“One time I had to call Lieutenant Arroyo to get you out of a tree.” After he’d panicked, gone scrambling like a cat, and she’d spent an hour looking with Ainsley before she found him tucked in a Y branch. She couldn’t keep an eye on Ainsley and get him down at the same time, so she called the Lieutenant, seemingly the only person he found calming.

“After all that, you _never_ wanted to leave us somewhere?” Malcolm looked at her doubtfully.

“No.” It wasn’t in the job description. Even though she knew he only meant for a few moments out of frustration, only to return and retrieve them, the idea felt inhumane.

“I would’ve left me.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t.” She sighed. “But I suppose we never know these things.”

“Didn’t think she was a killer, did you?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Extenuating circumstances.” She stood, looking around the space and getting them back to the task at hand so she didn’t stray where she shouldn’t. “Do you see any trace anywhere else?”

He stood and swung his hand back. She shivered, as he seemed to be reenacting the scene, which no one should have to relive. He turned around to inspect the wall and bookcase behind him, and she followed suit. “Need a little bit more cleaner,” he said, face unaffected by the memory.

She sprayed a rag in her hand and rubbed it over the bookshelf. He took another rag for himself, added cleaner to it, and ran it over a small section of wall.

“Sure swung hard enough,” he commented.

“Malcolm…” she warned. What was it with this kid always looking for more pain?

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Not everyone is into my line of work.”

His line of work shouldn’t include investigating his sister’s outburst under duress. But no one would be able to tell him that. She finished up the bookshelf, scanned the space one more time, and decided, “I think that’s it.”

The cracks between the slats remained stained dark, with other visible remnants of blood if she looked for them. But it was good enough for it not to appear as such a bloodbath by the time the cleaners arrived to professionally sterilize the space. Good enough for no one else to see how wrathful the scene had been. Good enough so they couldn’t go gossip about a wily, knife-wielding Whitly.

One wild Whitly in the media was enough to deal with. She didn't know how Jessica would bear two.

“Is there anything else I can help with?” he offered, drawing her attention.

“You tryin’ to take my job?” she joked.

He smirked. “Of course not.”

“Go to the park or something,” she suggested. “Always brought you calm.”

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Thirty-two years, kid.” She packed up her cleaning tote. “Would be nice to see it hit thirty-three.”

With a sad smile and a nod, Malcolm slipped his gloves off into the bag she held out to him, retreated to wash his hands, and left the Milton house.

Soon after, Luisa escorted the crime scene cleaners inside, removing all visible traces of the murderous night. A first step to give them back their lives.

The little she could think to do to help guide a family toward healing.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
